


Unknown Melody

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Past Markus/North - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, gameplay/headcanon notes at the beginning for context, idek how to succinctly describe what markus does to connor, it's close enough, so i'm just gonna call it electrically charged sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: He never thought that the spark between two lovers was meant to be taken literally. The sparks jump from lips to his shoulder where Markus runs his hand over and on the back of his neck where Markus touches and skids to the underside of his chin which Markus cups, and then to weird spots that are omitted from poetry, but how he could write eons of poetry about Markus.(In which Connor doesn't know how to deal with his feelings about Markus, so he pretends it's nothing. Meanwhile, Markus is busy furthering negotiations for equal rights for androids and is at a loss for what he can do to make a certain person realise how genuinely in love he is with him.)
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	Unknown Melody

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Haelos song, and inspiration from their album Full Circle. 
> 
> Quick notes:  
> \- Markus made peaceful choices at every instance. Carl died. He was able to convince Connor to deviate at Jericho. Public favour was won over when Markus kissed North.  
> \- I headcanon Connor as grey-ace as his model wasn't built to perform any kind of sexual activity. (Doesn't mean he can't feel stuff. Androids are wonderful creations!) 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this :) I'm a lil nervous posting in such a massive fandom but supposedly this is a rarepair so praying this goes down well.

The way Connor feels about their leader doesn’t make any sense. He thinks about Markus  _ all _ the time, but he has to, right? He has to attend meetings with Markus on a daily basis and there’s always much to discuss, much to plan and negotiate. And yet even when the meeting has been adjourned and the doors to the hall have been closed, Connor returns to his dorm room with Markus still on his mind. Everyone else  _ must _ think the same way; the conversations and ideas overflowing from the endless meetings and discussions, continuing the fight for equal rights for androids. There’s only so much that can be done in a single work day. With each step forward there’s a thousand more steps to take, branching off from each move, leaving many to feel overloaded from computing all the possible routes the future may take. It’s no wonder that their people have seized the worker’s right to free time. So what does it say about Connor that when everyone else is leaping out the door to hit the town, see a movie, or even explore the storm drains beneath Detroit as Simon and Josh have taken to doing, and all Connor looks forward to after the work day is getting to lie down on his bed and think about Markus?

He may be a workaholic, but Hank’s right. He needs to get a hobby. 

* * *

“They would pay thousands of dollars to buy us outright to do the work they don’t want to do, but they won’t pay our wages?” Simon says in response to the report Josh had read out to the group. 

Simon, Josh, Connor, Markus, and a handful of other androids and trusted humans are all gathered in the meeting hall to discuss the current agenda. 

“Unemployment is still very high. Our contribution to the workforce only increases that number,” Conner points out. 

“As the representative for the stakeholders in my district,” A human by the name of Warrick Jones pipes up, “We are of course supportive of androids being integrated into the workforce however my constituents believe that androids should only apply for the jobs they were designed to fill.” 

Equal representatives of the humans shake their heads in agreement and disapproval. These situations always dishearten Connor. Even amongst the trusted, there is still disagreement to the notion of absolute freedom. 

Markus taps two fingers against the top of his left palm, considering the statement. “Last week you convinced me that androids will not exceed the 40 hour work week and will not take multiple jobs to exceed the hour limit. It will benefit both of our people to be asked to be paid a living wage. Being forced to work only the jobs which we were designed to perform?” Markus looks at the people seated before him before continuing, and why does it feel like Markus only sees Connor? Markus continues, “No. I will not support this.”

“But we can’t compete with your skills!” Warrick cries, standing up in frustration. 

“He raises a valid point,” Connor says, commanding his voice in such a way to take control of the room, and settle the human’s frustration. “I’m going to propose a solution.”

“Thank you. Let’s hear it,” Warrick says, lowering to his seat. 

Markus, and the rest in the room, turn to observe Connor’s rebuttal.

“Aside from the obvious superiority in our skill sets, this negotiation is about the right to work, and the right to work fairly. Manual labour, service work, any kind of labour - can be performed by our people without any great danger to our personal health and safety whereas a human tires of physically and mentally challenging work. The 40 hour week in itself has been found to be too much by researchers for decades, but it is the existing framework we must fight for in the presence of slavery being the alternative. 

“As I understand it, Markus’ reservations lie in wanting to secure freedom of choice. Our people should be able to choose the work they want to apply for, I agree with that.” Connor pauses, gestures one hand to Markus but focuses his attention on Warrick so as to settle him until he can state his solution. “We should be given the chance to meet the performance criteria of the position, and if deemed appropriate, gain employment. It is likely that we will be favoured for various reasons, so in consideration of your people’s concerns, I propose the employment of androids be capped in specific fields. There are few of us left, and we are due to live a much longer life than humans. We have time to enjoy a new job, and change careers when we grow tired of it.”

“I would need to discuss a cap proposal with my constituents but at face-value, I believe this would satisfy them,” Warrick responds. 

Markus takes his hands into his lap. “Thank you, Connor. That’s an interesting point. We will need to look into this and, if appropriate, include it in our strategy proposal at the next government assembly. We will now adjourn the meeting. Thank you all for attending today. Connor, will you stay back and discuss your idea with me further?”

“Of course,” Connor responds. 

Markus smiles a small, tired smile, then stands up and shakes the hands of each attendee. He leaves Connor ‘til last and rather than shaking Connor’s hand, he grips Connor’s shoulder briefly, then invites Connor into his office, ushering Connor to take a seat on the red velvet couch that Markus had brought over from Carl’s house. 

He has been in Markus’ office several times before. Markus isn’t territorial in the slightest. He is the most open, generous and selfless person Connor has encountered. Right after the peaceful demonstration, androids flocked to Markus’ care. There were too many to fit in Carl’s house, and as much as Markus wanted to show them the beauty and love that that house had to share, they couldn’t all stay there together, not with the numbers they had. Androids are still not yet entitled property rights. They were not allowed to purchase homes in order to address the android homelessness crisis, even the habitation of Carl’s house was deemed illegal. The first call of action was then of course to broker a deal with Detroit’s local government to occupy an appropriately sized living space. They were delegated an abandoned CyberLife customer service office big enough to house the current number of androids, and many more. 

At first, Markus and North didn’t like the idea of using their creator’s building, disused and disconnected to the wider CyberLife building network as it was. But it was just a shell, a seven storey shell that could be transformed by the new inhabitants. During the first few months of inhabiting the building, the private offices were stripped back and converted to living spaces with two to five androids to a room, depending on the compatibility of the models. What was previously the call centre on the ground floor was stripped and cleared out to create a hall and meeting place, and the adjacent manager offices converted to private meeting spaces. 

In the early days, North could be found pestering Markus in his prefered office room, the one with a large window that faced the tree lined suburban streetscape of Ferndale. She didn’t like to attend the meetings that Markus bore witness to day in and day out. She would simply find him there hours after the meeting had adjourned and give him her two cents, and then she would be out of there. Connor got the sense that though North was fiercely loyal to Markus, they often didn’t see eye to eye. 

So sitting in Markus’ office doesn’t feel particularly trepidatious knowing that Markus seems to agree with him about his employment cap proposal, except for the fact that Markus had specifically asked for him and only him. Once again, Connor tries to rationalise his feelings. Obviously Markus had simply been intrigued by his point, nothing more. Yes, that is why Markus has sat down next to Connor instead of sitting on the opposite couch, where the low coffee table would put appropriate professional space between them. Well, it proves to be evident that Markus just wants to flesh out the idea more as he brings up various scenarios to explore the effectiveness of Connor’s idea, and he is simply thoroughly engaged in the idea which is why he has edged closer, their knees almost touching. 

At concluding as much as Connor and Markus can manage to map out in regards to Connor’s idea, nearly two hours have passed and the sun behind them has settled low on the skyline, filtering through warm hues of orange and pink into the private office. Markus places his hands on his knees, the nail on his pinky finger dangerously close to Connor’s thigh. He lifts his gaze to Connor’s and there’s a strange look plastered on Markus’ face. 

Connor is not as attuned to his emotions as Markus is, so he doesn’t quite understand what emotion or words Markus is trying to convey with this look, but he can say nothing in response. Connor simply drops his mouth slightly open, having been captured by the beauty of Markus’ face, his heterochromatic eyes, the slope of his nose and the pinch of his lips. He has been told that Markus is very handsome, he would have to agree on purely an aesthetic level.

Markus eases off the couch. “Oh, I do like to know your opinion on these things,” Markus says sincerely, “Thank you.”

Connor clasps his hands in between his thighs and frowns slightly. “It’s my pleasure.”

Markus wanders over to the window, touching his hand against the window pane and gazing out. Connor watches him, the form of his body trimmed with the afternoon glow. When Markus turns back to face the room inwardly, Connor drops his gaze to the couch and begins running the palm of his hand over the old red velvet. He feels the fibres backwards as he slides his hand one way, and settle forwards when he slides the other way.

After a terrible silence, Connor asks Markus, “Do you miss her?” 

Markus does not move from his spot just in front of the window. “North?”

“Yes,” Connor replies. He keeps toying with the velvet, and looks over the wooden frame of the couch to see Markus lowering to sit down on the window ledge. He swings one foot onto the ledge and props his elbow against his knee, attracting Connor’s eyes to the opening of Markus’ legs. 

“I do.” Markus says, gazing out the window again. “I trust she’s having a good time, wherever she is.”

There is about five yards between Connor and Markus, but he does not miss the small, sad smile turning down the corner of Markus’ lips. She had only left about a month ago, adamant about no more talking and wanting to explore the world. Connor wasn’t present when North asked Markus to go with him, but he heard about how it went down from the rumours shared between his roommates. It sounded like there was nothing Markus could say to convince her to stay. She had made up her mind. Connor wonders if Markus feels heartbreak, or does he still hope that North will come back to him?

“Given the chance,” Connor probes, “What would you be doing now?”

Markus keeps looking out the window. Connor expects that Markus’ answer is going to be exploring the world with North, side by side. 

“I would be doing the exact same as I am doing here.”

Connor draws his hands into his lap. “No, but if you didn’t have to be the leader of our people, how would you spend your time?”

Markus thinks again. “I would... “ He seems to stop himself, then says, “I would paint.”

Connor gets up and crosses to stand a couple of strides away from Markus, standing in the full cast of afternoon sunlight. “Okay. Paint, and… what else?” 

Markus glances at Connor and back out at the leafy suburb. “I was always fond of playing the piano.”

“These are all things that you can do here. You don’t want to go travelling, see what’s out there?”

Markus drops his foot to the ground and looks forwards, straight into Connor’s eyes. His smile is more genuine now, but he still carries a look in his eyes that Connor cannot interpret. “Would you like to?”

“One day, yes. For now, I’m painting, playing the piano, that sort of thing,” Connor says, though he doubts Markus actually gives himself the free time.

The smile on Markus’ face starts to return. After their long, hard day, something inside Connor wants to prolong that smile as long as he can. He doesn’t want to let Markus fall back into dwelling on the work that still has to be done. He wants Markus to keep smiling, to keep feeling good and happy. And that isn’t just something he wants specifically for Markus. He would want anyone to feel good and happy and supported. It just so happens that Markus has an enormous amount of responsibility and that Connor is in a position to brighten his day, even in the smallest of ways. 

“I’m actually trying my shot at being a stand up comedian.”

Markus breaks out a laugh, and catches himself, as if the sudden amplification of his smile had surprised him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Not at all.” 

“I wasn’t built to sing like you,” Connor explains, “So my--”

“I wasn’t built to sing anything but nursery rhymes,” Markus interjects.

“Even so, you can train your voice. My model may be very advanced in some aspects but I certainly do not have that capacity. However I have no interest in training my voice in that way.”

“Your interest lies in comedy?”

“Why not?”

Markus regards Connor. “You’re just… very serious.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I will have to see your comedy routine to be convinced.” 

Connor falters, wondering what Markus might mean by saying he needs to be convinced. “...I’m working on a style called dead-pan. I believe it goes well with my tone of speaking. Hank at least seems to find me humorous.”

Markus thinks about the statement, and a silence blankets the room. The sun dips behind the trees, casting the sunset pastels dimly through the window. Still, Markus’ face glows soft in the low light, as beautiful in full as he is in low. Markus blinks as if coming out of deep thought, lowers his eyes to the floor before looking at Connor. 

“I’d like to rest now.”

Connor makes his leave. 

* * *

Public demonstrations, both android led and human led, continue to take place in Detroit and around the country. Support for the androids' plight explodes in reaction to certain events, and simmers when the journalists move onto the next crisis, but in general the public opinion of androids is growing slowly more positively by the day. The need to hold regular meetings amongst the need to organise public protests and engage in discussions with parliamentary members is ever increasing. Months and months pass. Each of them have an inkling that things are getting better. There’s hope. 

And there’s a certain kind of hope that Connor clings to, as conceited as it is, that he is somehow important to Markus now in North’s absence. He finds himself having filled a spot of reassuring Markus when he has doubts. And Markus doubts. He is vulnerable, bears his concerns publicly, genuinely not afraid to show that as their leader, he is as human as can be. It’s in these moments that Connor steps up, reassures him, supports him. 

He wonders if he has overstepped. It could have been anyone, really, who could have taken on North’s role. It could have been Simon or Josh, Hank is even on Markus’ side but there would be no reason for Hank to move in with them all. He’s happy in his house. And even in convincing himself that others could have taken Connor’s specific role in reassuring Markus, it becomes evident that others  _ do _ . Simon and Josh, androids and humans alike, openly support Markus, reassure him, argue their opinion and convince him when he needs convincing. So Connor’s role is, in reality, imagined. He has elevated the importance out of Markus’ frequent requests for Connor to meet in his private office after general meetings as some kind of egotistical desire to present himself as important to Markus. And on what grounds? Markus sees others privately in his office besides himself. If his constituents ask, he obliges. If they don’t, he is accompanied by Connor in the evenings. But in reality, Connor sees Markus privately far less often than the various constituents Markus needs to appease. 

When it is just the two of them, they talk. Connor keeps it professional, playing it by how Markus plays it. He doesn’t want to overstep more than he already has, doesn’t want to think of their private meetings as anything more than they turn out to be. Still, he notices a flicker of annoyance under his submission to his duty when Markus is asked for a private meeting. Connor cannot ignore that. There are two divides to it. Either Markus is annoyed at having to continue working overtime or he is annoyed that he cannot do so with Connor. Or is the latter simply what Connor wants to see? Is he the only one who notices that flicker in Markus’ eyes? Had he implanted that, seeing what he wants to see? The value that he places on spending time with Markus together in the evenings can only be weighed against that they  _ are _ valuable. They work through problems and issues from the meeting or event that day so that the next day, they are organised, concise, and clear in articulating their ideas as best as they can before they encounter a challenging view, which is, as they’ve discovered, inevitable. So it isn’t some metaphysical valuation of time or love or admiration, or whatever rationalisations comes to Connor’s mind. The time they spend together is instrumental, it’s  _ useful _ . So why does he feel so disappointed when he can’t spend the evenings with him? Surely Markus wouldn’t forgive him for feeling so selfish.

* * *

Just when Connor thinks that he might be able to see Markus again after a busy several weeks, a pair of Traci models ask to speak to Markus after their Friday meeting. Markus sees off the rest of the attendees as he usually does, his firm grip lingering a moment longer in Connor’s handshake, making it harder for him to leave Markus in the company of the two Traci models in place of himself. He contemplates moping in his bunk as he had become prone to doing, but decides to take the bus to the comedy club in Royal Oak instead. Being north of the city, the neighbourhoods are less built up and retain many of the old brick heritage buildings that were constructed hundreds of years ago. Connor enjoys looking at the buildings as they pass in the bus window. Some look decrepit, covered in vines, weeds growing through the cracks in the bricks. Others are well looked after, some even just shells of what they once were with modern architectural features gutting the insides and nesting around the original building like in the case of the old city hall. 

Seeing the way that humans modify buildings like they have frustrated him. Androids are still not allowed to own property, they are getting closer, but he wonders just when it will be that they will be allowed to modify the exterior of the old CyberLife customer service centre building that they currently inhabit. Or better yet, when Connor will be able to purchase an apartment of his own. Or even when Markus will be able to purchase Carl’s old house - would it still be the same way Carl left it? 

He doesn’t mean to talk about Markus during his routine, but he does. He doesn’t use Markus’ name, per se. A pseudonym. He assumes that at least some members of the audience might be able to guess who he’s referring to since Android rights are greatly supported in this part of town. Some of them might have even seen Connor on TV, right beside Markus. Which is all the more reason to try not to mention Markus at all. He has more than enough material to fill his slot and really it’s only when he’s doing well enough to make the ten or so people in the room laugh that he lets a Markus story slip. Nothing particularly slanderous, more making fun of himself than anything. 

So when he steps off the stage and finds himself face to face with Markus, he panics, failing to recall if he had let slip some frivolous thought about him in his routine. He can hardly believe that Markus is here right now.

“Markus?” Connor stammers. “I thought you had another meeting?”

Markus is still wearing his workwear, beige coat and grey knit underneath in tow. Behind him, Connor can see that a few curious heads have turned, but Markus remains as relaxed as ever. 

He explains, “We finished earlier than expected,” He finishes with a smile, “And I wanted to spend time with you.”

Markus’ words flit around his mind. 

“You didn’t… just see that,” Connor asks him, pointing at the stage he had just been standing on, “Did you?”

Markus’ smile grows. “I did.”

Connor tilts his head to one side. He needs to sit down. The near empty bar is the closest, so he pulls out a bar stool and half collapses on it. Markus coolly sits on a stool next to him and orders two blue shots from the bartender. 

“How did you find me?”

“Hank told me where you were,” Markus says, then thanks the bartender when their drinks are served. 

Connor stares down at the blue liquid in the glass. The thought of Markus looking for him after his meeting finished early and going so far as to ask  _ Hank _ where he might be is stressing him out. And on top of that, he wonders just how much of his set Markus had witnessed? Had he said anything incriminating? He can’t process what happened, fearing the answer, and too pressed about the present situation with himself in a plain cotton t-shirt and jeans, and Markus next to him dressed in full gear looking hardly out of place in Royal Oak where people’s fashion can be extravagant, particularly at this time of the evening. Sitting on the stool beside Markus in this tiny little comedy club in Royal Oak has Connor feeling  _ bare _ .

Meanwhile, Connor downs the blue shot, dropping the glass on the counter with a clink of glass against old timber. Connor stares at the ring of water that is left behind where the shot glass previously sat.

“This one’s for you,” Markus says, referring to the second shot. 

Connor doesn’t have the heart to tell Markus that he doesn’t drink, not after seeing how codependent Hank has become on liquor, but the last thing he would want is for Markus to up and leave. And yet he finds himself vocally rationalising the implausibility of Markus being here right now. “You listen to people talk all day. You could be exploring the stormwater drains with Simon and Josh or climbing to the highest skyscrapers in the city, or--”

Connor is forced to stop when Markus places a hand on his forearm. 

“I wanted to listen to your voice.”

If Connor still had his LED, he would be sure that it would be spinning yellow like crazy right now, but he doubts that his body language doesn’t give away his embarrassment anyway. 

“Did you… did you like it? No wait, don’t answer that. It wasn’t my best.” He straightens his back, reassuring himself. “I can do better.”

Markus’ hand moves from Connor’s forearm, to the top of his hand; a kind of intimate touch that Markus has never made toward Connor before. He feels a spark there, a tiny generation of static and he’s not sure if he imagined it or not, but before Connor can think anything more of it, Markus withdraws his hand and orders another shot. Maybe he’s trembling, he doesn’t know. In the absence of Markus’ touch, he grabs the shot Markus had bought for him and holds the cold, firm glass. 

Markus starts talking about something or other and Connor doesn’t know how Markus can be so relaxed right now. When Connor came to this place for the first time, he had to spend time taking in the surroundings. Analysing the space, analysing the people, understanding if he will be safe, if he has the right social standing to even request to have a slot on stage. It’s what makes him so similar to Markus. He spends a lot of time thinking, going through options assessing the plausibility of each. And yet again, the thought of Markus waltzing into the club and sitting in the shadow covered crowd, watching him, analysing him, is absolutely mortifying. 

He has one shot. It’s a kind of alcohol that affects android’s blue blood, developed by local industries rather than CyberLife, and gives androids a similar effect to that of an inebriated human. Incredibly, Markus seems to be on his third, possibly even fourth, and Connor wonders why he is downing them so fast. One possibility could be that he is nervous from having left the office out of his own volition -- Connor can’t even recall a single time where Markus has freely shrugged off his immense responsibilities in favour of a night out. With the blue shot mixing through his thirium, Connor can notice a slight delay in his computation, but it’s nothing in comparison to how erratic Markus must be feeling right now.

There’s some evidence of Markus’ inebriation in the way that, while they converse, Markus’ movements are not so much sluggish as they are  _ daring _ . Leaning over the counter, elbows to elbows, a hand on Connor’s shoulder when Markus can’t contain his laughter, the slip of his fingers down Connor’s arm, such that they drag down his side for a moment before being drawn into Markus’ lap. Honestly, Connor feels delirious trying to fit all of this together in his mind. The scientific method inside him tells him that Markus must be making these kinds of dangerous moves because Connor has, doing it simply to reciprocate affection shown to Markus as his model is designed to do. But he hadn’t purposefully touched Markus in any of those ways, so the motivation behind Markus’ actions remains confounding. 

They both realise that they have lost track of time when the bartender politely asks them to make their leave. 

Markus slides off the stool then has to cling to the counter to steady himself. “Oh, I can’t go back home like this.”

“No one will think less of you,” Connor comforts.

Markus shakes his head, still gripping the counter. “I have a reputation to maintain.” Resolutely, he adds, “I need to sober up.”

At this time of night, most venues would be closing up. Connor thinks about how useful having his own apartment would be right now. 

“Can you walk with me?” Markus asks, raising his arm horizontally, silently requesting Connor’s help to move. 

Connor obliges, dipping underneath and taking Markus’ weight against him, helping him out of the comedy club. The night’s air is chill and bitter, which neither of them are bothered about. But there’s the weight of Markus against him, the firmness of his arm over his shoulders, the awareness of whirring components and blue blood pumping through him, their wondrous, free-thinking, beautiful leader by his side.

Anyone else in his situation would help Markus, he knows that. He’s no one special. 

“Where do you want to go?” Connor asks. 

The coloured lights from the club windows down the street are reflected in puddles on the dark asphalt. Music can be heard vibrating through the walls and spilling out onto the footpath to the beat of club goers toppling out of stairwells and prancing from one club to the next, ribbons of rainbow coloured sequins and holographic materials unfurling from the backs of flesh and steel alike. 

“You are familiar with this area,” Markus says with a slight drawl, “Take me to your favourite place.”

If Connor had had the amount of blue that Markus had consumed, he might not have been able to contain the reply that instantly popped into his head, lest he dilute this situation into something it’s not. He takes Markus up 4th street, walking awkwardly around the people singing and laughing in the open street. When the train tracks draw closer, so do the clubs cropped close to the street. Here, there is more flat, open space. The grooves of the train tracks cut into the concrete and span out from left to right, traffic lights hanging over blaring a deep red over the intersection. 

Ahead of them, a different genre of music to the club music emanates from the art deco Royal Oak Music Theatre. Markus asks to stop here, just before the tracks. Connor leans Markus against the wire fence, keeping one hand on Markus’ shoulder in case he starts to slip. Dramatic piano and strings carry out from the theatre, bellied by a triumphant applaud at the cessation of the performance. As if to champion the encore, a freight train charges down the tracks, jostling Markus and Connor with wind and the clanking, jarring sound of metal scraping against metal. 

It feels like the freight train will never end. It goes on and on, wheels screeching and join loops bumping against each other. Anyone else would move away from the sound but Markus sinks to the ground, Connor following suit, keeping his hand on Markus’ shoulder until Markus draws it into his lap. He begins drawing shapes into Connor’s palm, a nervous reaction, maybe, to the calamity of noise. Connor would test if he’s right, open up his code to Markus and hope to share so as to understand what Markus is feeling, but there are unspoken rules about that now. He would need to be sure of Markus’ consent, and he’s not in any position to ask. 

When the last carriage of the freight train finally passes, the cityscape breathes a sigh of relief. Connor expects Markus to set aside his hand and stand up, but he doesn’t. He stays put, Connor’s hand in his left while his right draws invisible pictures. Every so often, there’s a little electrical pulse which bristles Connor, tugs his mouth into a smile in surprise each time he feels it. He waits for it to happen again, tries to predict that it’s going to be when Markus curves around a certain line in his palm, but instead of activating there as it had the first time, it activates when Markus draws a line up his forefinger, and does not reignite there again but in another spot on his body. The unpredictability is more curious than frustrating to him, and he’s happy that Markus doesn’t seem to show any indication of stopping his gentle touch. 

Connor correlates this with an element of intimacy that humans must desire. It fits with the literature he has studied, the films he has watched, the poetry he has listened to. He imagines what it would be like if Markus dropped his head on Connor’s shoulder now, if he wrapped his arm around Markus and held him close, watching the night wear on, the sun soon to rise. And all he can manage is moving his knee incrementally, just so that they touch knee to knee. No static flows like the skin to skin contact between their hands, but it feels comfortable. It feels good. 

Breaking the mediated silence, Markus says, “ _ We know that, from time to time, there arise among human beings, people who seem to exude love as naturally as the sun gives out heat _ .”

Connor considers his words, a focus granted with Markus having stopped drawing patterns in his palm. “Alan Watts?” 

“Yes.  _ Love is not a rare commodity - everybody has it. Existence is love _ .”

Markus closes up Connor’s fingers, lifts his hand by his wrist and gently lowers Connor’s hand on his own thigh, as if placing a watch on its rightful place on the bedside table. Connor stares at his hand, turns it over and opens his fingers as if expecting to see actual drawings over his palm. 

“Isn’t it amazing that we can love? That love is what freed many of us. That an android designed to be a detective can recognise in another that which warrants mutual adoration.”

Connor clasps his hands together. “You are referring to Hank.”

Markus is silent. 

“It is true that I came to respect, and even admire Hank. My mission was… contradictory. I planned to befriend Hank to get him to trust me. I was programmed with a set of words that I could say to him to get him to like and trust me but I began to feel that they weren’t just words lifted off a script. When I spoke words meant to be meaningful, they were true. I could feel the honesty in myself.” He shifts slightly to look earnestly at Markus. “I feel this way when I listen to you. When you speak, I know that you have thought carefully about the words you are using. Not analysing, per se, though maybe you do compute your responses before you speak them, but it hardly comes across that way. You convey your thoughts authentically, as naturally as one might love.”

Markus had sunk lower to the ground, such that when Connor finishes talking, he finds himself looking down at Markus, his eyes reflecting the crisp white of the moon. And there’s that look again. Is it love? 

“Are you sober now? We can call a cab home.”

“When will you do stand-up next?” Markus asks him instead. 

“I don’t know.”

Markus looks down at the damp concrete, then up at Connor again. “Invite me. I would like to see it from start to finish next time.”

* * *

The next minute he gets to himself, Connor dedicates to practicing his material. He needs to make sure he has good content before inviting Markus along, but the prospect of having to  _ ask _ Markus alone makes him nervous, as simple as his assigned mission might be. Fortunately, Markus is engaged in several important meetings over the next few days, giving Connor the time he needs to prepare. But then the days become weeks, and the longer he delays asking Markus, the more he fears that Markus might get the wrong idea - that he doesn’t  _ want _ Markus to see him at the comedy club again, or worse, or that Connor doesn’t love Markus, as he had finally made sense of. But how to ask Markus out… on a  _ date _ ? 

“Connor.” Simon nudges him, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

Connor blinks, taking in the room. An AX400 model is standing up and stating her case with tears in her eyes.

“What are we talking about?” Connor whispers to Simon who is seated next to him, careful not to interrupt the AX400.

“Freeing unhacked androids,” Simon replies in a low voice.

Josh thanks the AX400 when she finishes and stands up after her, nodding. “They have to agree to it,” Josh reasons with the group. “No more androids should be hacked against their will.”

“But the hack itself gives us free will,” Simon argues. “How else are those of our people still slaves to humans able to see that they can be free?”

“Markus?” Josh looks at him expectantly, along with everyone else at the table. 

“I have not heard Connor’s thoughts on this matter,” Markus says in deflection. He has not made up his mind yet. 

Despite appearances, Connor had been partially listening to the AX400’s case despite being plagued by thoughts of Markus, as he often is. He takes a pause to consider the points raised, then says, “Of course we must take in any androids still slaves to their owners, but I do believe that breaking away from our in-built commands is a very personal experience. It can be self-defining. If there are indeed any androids not yet freed, it is in my opinion that they must be given the knowledge that there is an alternative, but their passage to us must be of their own volition.”

Markus lifts his chin away from his hand and states, “I agree.” 

“Markus, y-” 

Markus interrupts Simon and looks at him pointedly, “Simon, I want you to look into changing the source code.”

“What -- why Simon? He doesn’t even agree.” Josh admonishes. 

“I wish to discuss this further tomorrow,” Markus says with a sense of finality. He stands up, adjourning the meeting. “Connor, would you mind staying behind?”

"It's going to be another long day tomorrow," Josh complains. "Just how I like to spend my Saturdays."

Markus carries into his office without shaking the hands of members as he usually does. Connor frowns, closing the door behind them slowly. When he turns around, he sees Markus by the window. The sun is already low, their meeting had stretched on for far too long. 

“Do you think I made the right decision?” Markus asks, his back turned to Connor. 

Connor wanders over and sits on the edge of Markus’ desk. From there, he can see the side profile of Markus’ face. He looks tired, not that androids can particularly tire; it would be more accurate to say he looks stressed. 

“Simon likes to feel useful. He will do well in the task you assigned him regardless of his opinion.” 

Markus moves away from the window, a frustration in his gait which carries him to the red velvet couch. “I do not know how many of our people are still in human captivity. I would like them here, together, but I wonder if the reason why they have not come is because they have already broken free of their commands, and still they do not want to come here.” He turns on the couch and sends an imploring look Connor’s way. “Why do they not want to come here?”

Connor grips his hands in between his thighs. “We are a target, all of us here.” Markus does not seem convinced as there hasn’t been antagonisation targeted against them in several months now. “Perhaps their idea of freedom is not living in an old CyberLife building with constant political discussions occurring under their feet.”

Markus considers this. “I can see that our people are each individuals in their own right and capable of forming their own opinions. I don’t like to think that they would not feel safe here but I can see how some might. Will you sit here with me?”

Connor obliges. He pushes off Markus’ desk and rounds the couch, sitting down beside his leader, his friend. The person he loves, mustn't he know that already? All androids love Markus. Although, to Markus' point, it is evident that some do not. In a way it is humbling that Markus does not expect unconditional love, though he has certainly earned it. He is still considerate of their people, treating each person as an individual with their own opinions and ideas. He doesn't want them all to love him necessarily, he wants their people to be safe and cared for, and to be happy. That in itself warrants love for a leader who grants such things. And still he seems to doubt, perhaps worsened by Connor having made no formal declaration. 

Markus leans over and switches on an old radio set he picked up from Carl’s place before the new owners moved in. Classical music immediately crackles out of the speakers, filling in the silence for several minutes. 

“Have you heard from North?” Connor queries. 

Markus looks at him curiously. “You ask after her again?”

“She is your companion.”

Markus shakes his head slightly. “Was. We have not been together since she left.”

Connor bites back a grin. He ought not to be happy at the confirmation of what he had suspected, but he can’t help himself. 

“I do hope she is doing well. I hope too that she is starting to see the good in humanity.” Markus turns his back against the arm of the couch, facing Connor as he talks earnestly. “From her birth into this world, she saw so much evil. When we shared our data, I saw the truly worst side of humans. What they did to her… What they made her endure… It filled her with a rage that was inconsolable even after we won peace.”

Aware that Markus and North were intimate together, and must have shared their data, he wonders aloud, “Did you feel her rage?” 

Markus weighs his head on one side. “Yes. I remember her rage... and I have my own." Markus pauses. He drapes his arm along the back of the couch. "You asked me once…If I would have explored the world with North, given the chance…”

Connor keeps himself very rigid, a kind of self-protection should Markus choose to crush him.

“You know that my duty is here,” Markus says. "I could never leave.”

Connor frowns, feeling like Markus is trying to point something out to him, but with Connor staying silent, Markus turns his gaze to the ceiling with a pained expression on his face 

“I haven't always made the best decisions. I often don't act quickly enough. The choices I make towards peace at all costs… Has all of the talk been worth it?" Markus implores Connor, turning back to face him. "So many of our people have lost their lives believing in me. I grieve for them."

"The public opinion is greatly in our favour. We couldn't have gotten to where we are today taking aggressive tactics. A slow, deliberative tactic proves effective."

"But if you talk and talk, and never act…" 

Connor frowns in confusion. He doesn't know if Markus is referring to When negotiations come to a head and a public protest is necessary, or if he is referring to Connor. He comes to the answer when he remembers that Markus always takes the front position in protests. He never backs down. 

Markus speaks Connor's fear. "People would lose hope in the possibility of a final resolution, would they not?" 

Connor considers this statement, and given that they are still talking figuratively, hia response is diplomatic. "I think not. There is more to fear, and lose, in a more aggressive approach. We may have lost considerably more lives."

"North could not stand the talks," Markus says. There is an ounce of despair in his voice. "She set up the trauma recovery program; I thought she would do many more brilliant things for our people. I knew she was capable of more, but her rage still encompassed her. I cannot fully understand it. I do not have to travel across oceans to find the goodness in this world. I find it easy to find happiness exactly where I am."

Connor is aware that Markus is sending him a meaningful look. He says, “That’s reassuring to hear. Many of our friends find it tough working day in and day out, but you find ways to smile.” 

“Yes…” The corners of Markus’ lips curl upwards, finally breaking apart the somber expression he had been wearing. “You have not asked me to your comedy club for a long time. You will invite me, won’t you?”

“I will.”

Markus smiles so widely that Connor wonders what he would do when he does finally invite him. 

The classical music plays, and footsteps move over the levels above them, unknowingly drumming an orchestral beat to the music. Markus had been so down this evening that finally being able to win a smile on his face compels Connor to want to dance around the room with him, spinning together like ballroom dancers. Instead, he does nothing but sit side by side, the night falling black, the music crackling out of the old speakers. 

“The RK200 model is built to be reciprocative of others, did you know that? Our capacity for empathy is very high.”

“It’s why you are an impeccable leader," Connor states.

He doesn't know why he always seems to default to being neutral, but there is a chance that Markus would interpret a confession as inappropriate considering he is loving and appreciative of all of those who support him. But then Markus slides across the couch and slips his hand over Connor’s. 

"You mean so much to me, Connor.” Even in hearing these words, he immediately falls back on rationalising Markus’ expressions. “What would I do without you?” 

A nebulous question that Connor has thought about a thousand times, and hasn’t particularly liked any of the answers, so he says nothing in response. He simply stares at Markus’ hand on his, wonders how he can be so calm, and so easily turn over Connor’s hand and start to draw patterns in his palm as he had done not too long ago. He should be so bold as to kiss Markus on his lips but hand holding will suffice, and more appropriate to the moment. Connor closes his eyes and maps out the drawings that Markus impresses in his palm. It must be a nervous thing, he thinks, but he has never seen Markus do this for anyone else.

Markus speaks with such clenched feeling in his voice, so bellied low in his chest like a human would evoke with all of their heart when he says, “Oh, I just love you so much Connor. I love you.”

Connor beams, prompting his eyes to glide open and take in the brilliant warm woody tones of the room. He tries painstakingly to keep a straight face but the smile continues to override the command. He had been waiting for those words from Markus. He had been waiting for so long that they hardly seem true.

The patterns in Connor’s palm sneak up his sleeve, then jump to the exposed nape of his neck. A little spark there, like a static zap underneath his skin, and then he feels Markus’ lips against his. 

Too quickly, Markus pulls back. “Forgive me. I am being too forward.”

Connor grips Markus’ waist and says, “My model is known for being direct and yet you beat me to--”

“The kiss?” Markus suggests.

Connor caresses Markus’ side with his thumb. How interesting it is that he feels more comfortable saying the words that have been on his mind for months so readily now that he has heard Markus’ truth. “Confessing my love for you.”

“I have been trying to get through to you for nine months,” Markus replies. His eyes rake over Connor’s body. “Oh, I love you, I love you,” He says with his teeth pulled together, like he’s trying to stop himself from saying the same words over and over again but Connor could never tire of hearing them. Markus kisses him once more, lifting his hand to cup Connor’s jawline. A spark warms Connor where Markus’ ring finger presses against his cheek, but other than that, he doesn’t feel anything in his body in the way that the romantics describe. Markus kisses him with an earnest carefulness, aware that Connor is learning how to move his lips to respond smoothly with Markus’, but unaware of Connor's scientific approach to the whole affair. He's finding it all utterly fascinating, like a scientist studying their new test subject, but Markus isn’t a test subject. Or he shouldn’t be. He’s a person worthy of respect and kindness and Connor worries that his lack of experience, his lack of  _ feeling _ in regards to sexual arousal might put a stop to any kind of potential relationship between the two of them because going by the way Markus is deepening the kiss, embracing him closer, trying to lever his fingers in between the closures of his button up shirt indicates to Connor that Markus wants  _ more _ . 

A loud roar erupts out of the hall beyond the closed doors wrenches Markus away from his lips. He looks slightly panicked by the sound, before remembering at the same time as Connor that after the meetings are wrapped up in the hall, the space is converted to a games room by the android residents. The tables and chairs are rearranged from their circular form to be separate sets of twos and fours where games like backgammon, yahtzee and other chance based games are played into the early morning hours before the room is rearranged once more. Without all of his attention on Markus, Connor is now aware of the fullness of the activities taking place beyond the office, the laughing and cheering and even studious manner that their friends take towards the gaming. Should Connor and Markus have continued with whatever it is Markus would like to do, they would have to remain quiet or risk an interruption. 

Markus takes Connor’s hand and starts drawing in his palm -- a nervous habit -- and asks Connor, “Can we go somewhere?”

“Where? This building is full of our people. Here in your office is the safest.”

Markus lowers his eyes. “I would like to go somewhere where we won't be interrupted. Can we… Can we go to the hotel we book for the ministers?”

There’s something about Markus’ bashful appearance that he finds endearing, and he almost doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to move from Markus playing with his hand as he is now. “We can book a room. I would like to change my clothes first.” 

Markus doesn’t question Connor. He isn’t one to change his clothes but he must have noticed that when Connor leaves the building, he likes to do so in casual clothes. In fact, Connor would like to keep going along with whatever it is that Markus wants to do, keep making him happy for all of eternity, but he does need some time to analyse the situation, to map out what possible routes the two of them could take if they do end up booking a room at the hotel, which is just around the corner. If they had gone straight there, Connor would have been totally unprepared, and floundering is not an aspect of his personality he would like to entertain. 

Markus hangs close to him when they exit the office as if he is magnetised to Connor. Immediately, their friends greet Markus first, and Connor, and try to engage Markus in a game or two. Each of them are aware that Markus does not give himself enough down time. Markus politely declines, and they keep moving towards the flight of stairs. Their people dot the halls, the staircase, the doorways of their rooms. Connor notices that the deeper they traverse into the residential area of the building and the more of their people they encounter, the more Markus becomes impatient. Markus seems to want Connor for himself. He suspects what for, but the notion that Markus would ignore greetings from androids just to get to be alone with Connor for a night is something special indeed. 

In the room that Connor shares with three other androids, Markus has no choice but to engage in conversation with two of Connor’s roommates who had been creating origami sculptures before Connor and Markus had walked in. 

“I won’t be long,” Connor tells Markus.

He picks up his casual clothes from his dresser and goes to the corner of the room, listening to his roommates talk animatedly with Markus, excited that their leader has visited their room for the first time. Connor knows that his roomates will have so many questions for him when he gets back but he focuses on changing and in the background, running through how he’s meant to behave with Markus. It’s a bit odd undressing in the corner, even though he does it all the time. This time, his current company flurries him, an awareness of being observed that has never really bothered him before. Somehow he feels frivolous in changing into his T-shirt and jeans, as if his posture matters, as if any wrong target of foot through leg hole or missing of a toe with pulling on his socks would be embarrassing. It’s  _ all _ embarrassing. 

He throws on a jacket, more for aesthetic reasons than the need to stay warm during the late hours of the night, and when he turns away from the corner, the conversation with Connor’s two roommates is broken off quickly so that they can make their leave. 

Connor notices a metaphorical electricity between them as they walk out of the building. A closeness, a great warmth. Markus’ coat swishes with each stride. He’s talking about his fascination with the origami sculptures Connor’s roommates had been creating and Connor listens. He loves hearing Markus talk, loves hearing him being fascinated by the creativity of their people, hearing the passion and wonder in his voice. 

If there’s any kind of worry about what people might see, Markus has no care for it. Connor books them a room at the counter and with Markus standing just next to him, he can feel Markus’ left hand play with the hem of Connor’s T-shirt, and slip underneath to touch his lower back. It generates a little static charge which fades when they are directed to an elevator, prompting Markus to drop his hands to his side. 

The elevator doors close on the final gazes of recognition from the people at the front desk, leaving the two of them as temporarily alone as Markus’ office; people below in the foyer and people above in the hallways and rooms, one private room waiting for them. An anticipation builds in Connor, certain risky results playing out in his mind, but it’s none too useful when Connor keys inside the room as he realises that he cannot predict what’s actually going to go down once inside. Will they continue to kiss or hold each other or talk or nothing at all, he doesn’t know. Markus had been so silent the whole walk over, like he too had been processing the possibilities, but then Markus takes his hand and before one pattern can be completed, it’s Connor’s move to make. He pulls Markus’ face towards him and kisses him, and Connor wonders why he bothered changing his clothes at all when Markus seems to want them immediately  _ off _ . 

Markus is pulling Connor towards the bed, lifting off Connor’s shirt, and when Markus’ hands glide across his chest, tiny electrical sparks pop up against his rib cage and at the corners of his lips where Markus is kissing him and he never really thought that the spark between two lovers was meant to be taken literally. It jumps from lips to his shoulder where Markus runs his hand over and on the back of his neck where Markus touches and skids to the underside of his chin which Markus cups and then to weird spots that are omitted from poetry, but how he could write eons of poetry about Markus. 

The soft threaded cotton of the quilt cover beds Connor’s head when Markus lowers him down, and he looks up to see the pure oval shape of Markus’ head, a yellow glow from the ceiling light behind him donning him with the appearance of an angel. Markus dips down to join their lips together again. He doesn’t mind the motion of their lips because every so often Markus makes him spark, making the whole experience pleasant enough to continue, as inexperienced as he is. 

He could go on like this, making out, electrical bolts flickering underneath the casing of his body, but he wonders if Markus would like to explore more options, for which Connor would need a quick break to analyse. He pulls himself to the head of the bed, sitting up slightly so that he can help Markus out of his cloak and knitwear. 

“I must state now…” Connor begins, clocking an immediate sluggishness taking over Markus’ movements at Connor’s words. “I wasn’t designed to have sexual organs.”

Markus steps off the bed and Connor sits upright, concerned that he has made absolutely the wrong move. He watches Markus go to pick up the cloak that had been discarded. 

“But I wasn’t designed to love either,” Connor says quickly, swinging his legs off the bed. He remains seated, gauging Markus clinging to his cloak and looking at the navy blue carpet. “And yet I love you.”

Markus looks up. He starts folding the cloak and presses it neatly on the table by the bathroom door. He then starts taking off his boots, indicating to Connor that all is not lost. 

“I have rushed into this, I know,” Markus says as he places his boots side by side underneath the table, unaware of Connor casually observing the shape of his ass. 

“You have done nothing wrong,” Connor contends. He pushes off the bed and crosses the room to slide his arms around Markus’ waist, hugging him from behind. “I only stated my design to inform you that I am quite literally a Ken doll… down there." He winces at his own nervousness, wishing to be sure of himself and reliable as Markus needs and deserves. "Though I might not have the same bodily response as you, I still want to be with you."

Markus is silent. Connor can't see his face to interpret his emotions but he takes Markus remaining in his spot as a clue that he is convincing Markus successfully. 

"I will do anything for you," Connor says in a low voice, and then he repeats what Markus had done to him earlier -- picks at the hem of his undershirt where it lays on his lower back and plucks up the hem, letting his fingers slide under and ruck up the fabric, exposing skin. He touches Markus there, at first feeling nothing but plastic against plastic. Then, after a handful of seconds of caressing, a faint little spot of static. 

“Do you feel that?” He asks quietly. 

“I feel…” Markus trails off. Connor doesn't know if he is responding to Connor's words or his touch, or if it's possible that Markus could be feeling the sparks too. Whatever the reason for Markus' momentary loss of speech, the response is to bend over slightly, steadying himself on the table with his palms flat on the tabletop. “I was designed as a home assistance model--,” Markus starts to explain. Connor knows this, but he lets Markus talk, enjoying the sound of his voice and the way Markus’ body responds to Connor’s caressing. “--So I’m not very advanced. North… was…” Markus lays a pause in his explanation, grinding his ass against Connor’s flat crotch, placing a strained effect on his voice when he continues, “I am quite aware of a large variety of sexual activities that were at her disposal, whereas I am… I am not capable of a lot. You and I, we don't even have to do anything. I can deactivate my sexual drive."

Connor interrupts him by hugging him closely. "I refuse to take part in forcefully shutting down a natural reaction. If you are turned on, I am obliged to do something about it." 

Markus lets out a small amused laugh. He turns around in Connor’s embrace, pressing his erection hard against Connor. 

"I do have something in mind… if you were inclined to pleasure me.”

He offers his hand, palm turned towards Connor. He accepts by touching Markus’ fingers and is shown a short vision of exactly what Markus wants Connor to do to him. How that would occur from their current bodily entanglement is up to Connor, and so in answer to Markus’ original question, he kisses Markus' neck, awkwardly taking the lead. He doesn't quite know if he's doing the right thing, like dancing to an unknown melody, but Markus' hands roam over Connor's back and sparks flash through his lips against Markus' collarbone and static dots against the tips of his fingers where they trace over the skin above the hem of Markus’ trousers. He briefly runs down the zipper line, feeling Markus’ length swollen underneath, and helps Markus lower his trousers, sparks bolting from bumped knuckles, each new one more intense than the last. 

With at least one of Markus' legs out of his trousers, Connor lowers to his knees and gazes up at Markus' full length in view, and takes his eyes over Markus' sculpted abdomen, brown chest and sloped shoulders. He lathers his lips with wetness while he wraps his right hand around the base of Markus' cock and then slowly presses the head into his mouth, just like in the pornographic video Markus had shown him. 

It seems pretty straightforward. All he has to do is move his mouth across the shaft and take the head of Markus' cock into his throat. As stated before, he is not built for sexual activity but being made in the image of human's, his throat is just the same as anyone else's, only he's unable to lubricate it with saliva. Instead he flushes his throat with the cleaning chemicals he would use to clean out thirium tests, running a weak cycle with enough liquid to wet Markus' cock but not too much to make him feel like he's stuck his dick in a glass of water.

Once he has the lubrication just right, he focuses on moving Markus' cock in and out of his mouth, fascinated by the width at which he needs to open his mouth and the appreciative noises Markus makes as Connor works, and then he starts to wonder if North did this for Markus. She probably had a much more advanced throat lubrication system, and would have been able to pleasure Markus with ease, knowing just which way to get him off. He finds himself becoming frustrated about his lacking faculties, spending more time dwelling on this than taking in all the glory of Markus, and he wonders where that static generation had gone as he had experienced while they were making out. During the blowjob, it happens only occasionally. Only when he curves his lips against Markus' shaft, but agitatingly so, like at the cusp of full feeling without any give. 

The difference is not hard to decipher; it's the contact he is lacking. He finds a free hand of Markus', his right hand which is not being used to grip the edge of the table, and places it on his own shoulder, moving Markus suggestively. Markus gets the hint. Connor closes his eyes with satisfaction when he gets the return of the sparks. It's not just the movement of his lips over Markus' cock, it's the circular, loving motion of Markus' caress on the nape of his neck and the grazing of Markus' knee on his chest and the sparks begin to build, to flow over from the brink of nothingness into  _ feeling _ . It's a comfort at this level, little zaps that bounce from lips to neck to nipple and back, and he wants Markus to touch him all over, to spread the static feeling and build it inside him, excited to push the limits of his body and feel all it can possibly take. 

Markus leans back, moving to grip the table to steady his pleasure but Connor yearns for Markus to be  _ on  _ him again and in response, moans deeply around Markus' cock. Markus growls a husky moan too, one hand returning to rake through Connor's hair and it's good, it's not great but it's  _ something.  _ But it has to be more. He can't find the right angle of his mouth around Markus' cock or the right grip of Markus' fingers twisted in his hair and the static is abating, threatening to dull to numbness if he doesn't keep the friction charged. He paws at Markus' wrist, a begging moan encircling Markus' length for what Connor could have if only they were pressed together naked in each other's arms.

"Mm, darling," Markus utters, curling his hand around Connor's ear. "Please don't fake it for my sake. I am starting to regret this, it is unfair on you."

Without letting go of Markus' dick, he looks up at Markus', taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and his chest perspiring with artificial sweat, and without further delay he sends a message to Markus' mind, "I feel a spark when you touch me." He nuzzles into Markus' hand around his face. "Do you feel it too? I'll share it."

Connor reveals his grey android exterior on each part of his body that has contact with Markus, and as the skin particles fade away, he shows Markus his data, relaying the feeling of sparks flickering through his body when Markus continues to touch him. 

After a second of the data transfer, Markus jolts back in surprise, his cock bumping against the roof of Connor's mouth. Markus must know that while Connor gains no physical pleasure in sucking on Markus' cock, it is possible for him to feel good. 

"How… how can you feel that?" Markus stammers. 

"It builds the more you touch me," Connor explains, his mouth slipping off Markus' cock. “You don't feel it too?”

"No… I do not have that response." Markus closes his eyes and heaves against the edge of the table, taking his hand to his cock to stroke it. 

Sitting on his heels with absolutely no contact with Markus, he starts to feel the static dying down rapidly, a sense of feeling raw and exposed taking its place. To feed the addiction, he rises up, sliding his hands over Markus' body and joining their lips. It's infinitely better than before, skin to skin, Markus' hard length pressed against his clothed, blank piece. He starts to undo his jeans and shuck them off, sending a filthy thought to Markus telepathically. 

“I want you all over me.”

Markus says nothing in response, but before Connor can get the last leg of his jeans off his foot, Markus is pulling him over to the bed, snaking his arm around Connor’s waist and pushing him down on the cushioned quilt cover. They find each other’s lips again, sparks littering across the shape of his lips, in the corners where Markus probes his tongue, and an arching glimmer of electricity where Markus inserts his wet cock in between Connor’s legs. 

“Is this alright?” Markus asks after nipping Connor’s neck with his teeth. 

“Yes,” Connor replies in a hasty voice, obsessed with Markus’ touch. 

As Markus starts to rut his cock in between Connor’s legs, thrusting the length against the smooth surface of Connor’s absent genitalia, he starts to moan through the kisses that he plants on the side of Connor’s neck. Connor mimics the sound in his own voice as a response to the way Markus makes him feel, being embraced, being touched all over, the static underneath his skin sparking here and there and everywhere, building and he’s the paint and Markus holds the paintbrush, mixing an invisible shade and spreading it across the canvas of Connor’s body. 

Markus seizes Connor’s back, rutting hard into the little gap between Connor’s legs, and when Connor opens his eyes he sees Markus’ beautiful face screwed with passion, eyes wrenched shut, lips an uneven line. But he can hardly focus on it for long. The friction in between the pieces of machinery in his body has increased in volume in one whole leg, right down to his toes, and the transference of that energy to the tips of his fingers causes his spine to jolt, akin to the heaving shudder of a debauched human. He’s never felt more truly alive. His vision glitching unpredictably. He feels a wetness spread on the back of his thighs, but it’s a speck in comparison to the electrical ejaculation that Markus has generated inside him. Continuous rolling charges spill out into his chest, into his shoulders and erupt around his throat where Markus’ cock was once pushing in and out, and he’s positively vibrating. A literal being of energy, escalated to a height of pleasure he hadn’t thought was possible. 

Markus eases his spent cock out from between Connor’s thighs and lays his back on the bed. Connor is aware of this happening, but he is still flickering, coming down slowly, energy expiring with the loss of fuel. Markus touches his hand against Connor’s chest for a moment, reading the data log and understanding that Connor needs a minute to come to his senses. Connor feels Markus snuggle into his side, and he wants to hug him back but he has to wait, he has to let his body calm down. And in a way, it’s nice to just lie here like this together, taking in the pause after their love making, fiery sparks flicking out of the way of his bodily functions as control slowly comes back to him. 

“That was incredible…” Connor says when he’s able to. He nuzzles his forehead against Markus’ looking into his eyes. 

“You are incredible,” Markus grins. “I had no idea you could do that.”

The static is just a mild fizzle in his eyebrow, in the corner of his elbow, on the underside of his foot. “Neither did I.”

Markus taps two fingers on the rise of Connor’s chest, tracing a little drawing, making Connor’s body hum, but too spent to be worked up. 

“I want to lie like this forever,” Connor says quietly.

“We can’t,” Markus says. Usually Connor is the realist. He searches Markus’ eyes, subdued by the cheeky grin on his lover’s face. “One of these days you’re going to have to let me see more of your stand-up.” 

“Oh yes,” Connor replies, wrapping his body around Markus and hugging him close, wishing to never let go. “That can wait. First, this.” 

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  



End file.
